


How To Live In 221B

by Vivian_Laufeyson



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Eventual Romance, F/M, From The Viewpoint of a Female, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, Possible Spoilers, Sherlock Makes Deductions, Sherlock can be nice when he wants
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-15
Updated: 2014-11-13
Packaged: 2018-02-09 00:59:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1962939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vivian_Laufeyson/pseuds/Vivian_Laufeyson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Not many people can get along with Sherlock Holmes in first encounters, forget living with him.  When your cousin, John Watson, had married Mary, he introduced you to his best friend and former flat mate. When you took up residence in John's old room, you never expected it to go like this.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>My first Sherlock fanfiction, so I hope this goes smoothly. Sorry for inconsistencies to character. I'll try my hardest to keep it right.</p>
<p>Rated T for later plans in the storyline, and just in case.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Meeting Sherlock and Other Disasters

**Author's Note:**

> Just a few things before you lovely readers get started.
> 
> 1\. This is a Sherlock/Reader fiction that is in the viewpoint of a female. It is written for females, and I'm sorry to any guys reading this. If you choose to continue, it could get awkward.
> 
> 2\. I'll try to keep the characters as close to their selves as possible. I'm welcome to criticism if you think something's wrong.
> 
> 3\. I don't use foul language or smut in any of my stories. If you are looking for either of these, you won't find it here.
> 
> Thank you and enjoy the story! Comments are pie and pie equals love!

Life with Sherlock Holmes was never boring as you quickly learned while running down Baker Street for the third time that day. When your cousin, John Watson, had married Mary, he introduced you to his best friend and former flat mate. You could still vividly remember John taking you by the arm and nearly dragging you across the reception room to meet the tall man with the messy dark hair only 2 weeks before.

"John! Where are you taking me? Let my arm go! Whoa!" You exclaimed as you almost fell on your rear before getting caught by Sherlock. Little did you know that would be a frequent event. When you looked up to see who caught you, a deep crimson burned your cheeks. He penetrated your thoughts as he spoke to John with a voice so deep that it could make almost any girl weak at the knees.

"You need to be more careful John. It's not good to have all the girls falling for you at your own wedding." You looked over at John as you recollected your sense of direction, and stood up, dusting off your dress. He was typical John; he just rolled his eyes and sighed as he shared your stare. You gave him a smile that was hiding a very persistent giggle. 

"Sherlock, this is my cousin." You smiled over at Sherlock and gave a small wave kept close to your chest. He stared at you rather intensely for around 3 seconds, and then visibly relaxed. As he turned to grab a glass of the wedding punch (terrible stuff in your opinion , but better than nothing), he asked as if he had known you your entire life,   
"How was the vacation?" You glared at John in complete and utter confusion. You had only just met the man, but he already knew about a vacation? You hadn't told anyone but John. Had John told Sherlock? No, that wasn't like John to go blurting out other people's lives. John had warned you that he could be a bit intimidating, that he could tell your entire life by the way your wore your hair, and your jacket. You believe John had called it 'deduction'. But if this was it, you didn't like it, so you asked quite possibly the most obvious question that you could think of.

"How in the world did you, of all people, know that I went on vacation?" He took a deep breath, subconsciously, as he began talking just after it had occurred. He began explaining how he knew as if you were a child, his voice laced with disappointment and almost... scorn? Who did he think he was? He wasn't any better than you or John! But you figured you might as well listen to what Sherlock had to say, see if he was anywhere near correct.

"Please! It was obvious! Your tan line for starters, is a dead giveaway. Your tan line above your shoulder suggests a swimsuit, as is begins at your collarbone and move towards the back of your neck." 

You looked down at your strapless dress, sure enough; there was the aforementioned tan line. It was almost gone, but still partly visible. 

"The tanning difference between your arms and the back of your neck suggests tanning, as well as the faint smell of sunburn lotion, telling me that the tanning was not from a salon, where it is timed, but rather a beach, where you fell asleep and burned. Your hair smells of hotel shampoo and conditioner, and as you only live two hours from here as evidenced by the driver's license in the front of your wallet, the chances of you stopping at a hotel to come to the wedding is highly unlikely."  
You looked down at your wallet which was dangling from your small black handheld purse. Indeed your driver's license was at the front, telling your hometown, as well as almost everything else. You had no idea what else to say other than basic sounds. "Ummm..."

You looked up at his face, and a moment of doubt crossed his face. He obviously knew he didn't get anything wrong, but he was mentally slapping himself. Apparently John had been working on social skills, which was something that the consulting detective lacked greatly. His face appeared as if he was having an intense battle with himself, and from the small amount of information that you had received from John, and the small amount that you could observe, you figured out that he must be in what John called Sherlock's "mind palace", whatever that was. He opened his mouth as if to say something, and it promptly closed and he seemed to be struggling. You raised an eyebrow in confusion as Sherlock said two words that you thought you would never hear come from him, knowing John's description of the man.

"I'm sorry."

He hung his head and your confusion suddenly jumped to surprise. You scoffed and fake slapped Sherlock on the arm. He made a small jump as if he wasn't expecting that, which he probably wasn't. You laughed and said, "You're kidding. You have to be kidding! That was brilliant Sherlock! Just amazing!"

His head rose a bit, and his eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"Really?" His voice was uncertain and almost nervous. This obviously wasn't a common reaction. You decided that he needed affirmation, because, well, he didn't look like he was quite himself.

"Yeah! Sherlock, do you think I'd lie about something like that? You're the only person I've ever met that could do something like that." Which was true, he was. You also hadn't met very many people. But that was beside the point.   
His deep voice let out a small chuckle, as he looked at you with a smile. 

"You're the second person to say that."

"Who was the first?"  
He shot a quick glance at John, and he smiled so big, you swore it had to be painful. John blushed as he realised who Sherlock was smiling at. Then, Mary quietly snuck up behind John, and pressed a finger to her lips, asking you and Sherlock to stay silent. You two broke out into a long, hearty laugh as Mary swiftly grabbed John's arm and pulled out into the middle of the crowd. John's legs nearly collapsed underneath him as he stumbled, trying to keep his balance while Mary pulled him into an impromptu waltz. 

Sherlock looked at you and pointed discreetly to his pocket where, half sticking out, was a mobile. You immediately got the message. You reached over and grabbed the small device, switching it into camera mode. Quietly touching the screen, you recorded nearly the entire thing, including John's embarrassing attempt at dipping Mary, which failed spectacularly, ending up with Mary and John on the floor. When you were finished you looked at Sherlock and he smirked, letting you know that you were both thinking the same thing, blackmail for years to come. As you handed him back his mobile you were confident that you were going to like Sherlock, and that the two of you were going to be a great annoyance (not like you weren't already) to your dear cousin John and his new Mrs.!

While you were recollecting other past experiences over the short two week period, the sudden stop of Sherlock in front of you caused you to stumble into his back, making him not only lose his balance, but his place in his mind palace. Sherlock grunted in frustration as he helped you up.

"Great! Just great! We've lost them! Now I'll have to go home and figure it out all over again!" As you collected yourself, you flinched when he threw his hands up in the air while pivoting on his heels. "You'd better hope that no one dies tonight! Their blood will be on your hands!"

That thought made your eyes grow wide in horror, those words replaying in your mind. Their blood will be on your hands. You'd be just as guilty for their deaths as the murderers. You had gotten lost in your thoughts again, and caused Sherlock to lose whoever you were chasing.  
As you both walked into 221B, there was a heavy weight on your chest. You had to help him in any way that you could. You stepped into the main sitting area, ready to ask how you could help when you noticed his face. It was one that you had become well acquainted with. He was in his mind palace once again, and this time you wouldn't distract him. You quietly stood up and went to the kitchen to make yourself a cup of tea.

As you waited for your tea to be done, you thought about what had happened, and you wondered if Sherlock had really meant what he had said back in the alley. Probably not, but he was Sherlock and he had done ruder things before. Besides, even if he meant it or not, he was still right nonetheless. You would be responsible. Your breath hitched, you got hot, and your eyes burned, threatening to spill the salty liquid that was collecting on your eyes. Abandoning your steeping tea, you ran to your bedroom. Slamming the door, you collapsed on the floor in a sobbing heap of misery. You had to call someone, anyone. You could always call John, he would be more than willing to listen, and he understood Sherlock better than anybody. No, you couldn't call John. Not this time. He had just come home from his trip with Mary. You didn’t know how long it would be until they visited again. It could be tonight or a month from now.

You could go talk to Mrs. Hudson, not that she would understand, but she would listen. You needed someone who might understand your position. That immediately ruled out Donovan, (Not that you'd call her anyway. She's always so mean to Sherlock. ). Anderson too, who, although he wasn't as bad as Sherlock made him out to be, and would definitely understand being the recipient of Sherlock's anger, wouldn't understand being blamed for potential murders... This left Molly, Lestrade, or Mycroft.  
Lestrade knows how to deal with Sherlock; he would be able to help you. Lestrade would be perfect…except for the obvious. You always missed the obvious. Although Lestrade would be more than willing to talk, he would be preoccupied with the fact that people could be dying, and rather than talk out your problems, would be asking for details. While trying to keep them safe was all fine, you would leave that to Sherlock, you knew it was selfish, but that wasn’t what you needed. You hadn’t even thought of how would Mycroft react to tonight….the “ice man”, as you called him, would simply ignore you or ask for your help to track someone down. You didn’t feel like riding in the limo with Anthea tonight. It was best if Mycroft knew as little as possible.  
Molly would understand! She always understood. She definitely had experience with Sherlock and his temper. Only God knows how many times that poor girl had gotten the brunt end of Sherlock’s anger. So that was it. You were going to call Molly. You guess you had already figured out that you were going to call her, but best to analyze all possible options. 

A sudden and long yawn abruptly derailed your train of thought. Huh, what time was it? You realised that you had positively no clue. You slowly stood up and recollapsed on your bed. Looking sideways, you checked your clock which brightly read “1:30 a.m.” Maybe you’d call Molly in the morning. You rolled over and pulled up your blankets, snuggling into your bed. You just didn’t really care if you were in your pajamas or in your jeans, you were tired, you’d care in the morning.


	2. How To Die and Survive Afterwards

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second chapter! Whooo! 
> 
> Ok, Sherlock is a tad not-Sherlock in this chapter, I know. But I thought it would be sweet. As you are John's cousin, he likes you a bit better than most people, right? I do a terrible Mary, and criticism is always welcome!
> 
> Hope you enjoy my nightmare. It was pretty difficult to write. Let me know if there's anyway I could improve it!
> 
> Comments are cookies, and cookies are love!

As you slept, you dreamt vividly of the possible consequences of your actions tonight.

 

A sudden bleep of your mobile in your pocket roused you from the morning’s paper. It was Lestrade of all people. He never contacted you, only Sherlock. You forgot what it had said, but you called Sherlock away from his violin, and you both rushed out of the door. Arriving at the crime scene, you both went to the body to investigate. Like always, Sherlock asked you what you saw, valuing your opinion almost as much as his own. You looked at her neck, there was the signature sign of the serial killer you two had been tracking down, the Nazi swastika written in a simple black sharpie. As you stared at it you became entranced, and in your daze, the dead woman sat up and grabbed your shoulders easily, as you were kneeling down in order to better investigate her body. She looked you in the eyes and began to talk.

“Look at you. Sherlock Holmes’ lovely little assistant. Trying to play the hero are you? Looks like all you’ve done is mess everything up for him. You’re trying to impress him, prove you’re not boring. Well you are. And once he’s done with you, he’ll cast you away and pick up a new one. You don’t really mean anything to him. You’ve failed. You failed Sherlock. You threw him off track. He almost had it. He almost caught the killer until you messed him up. But no, you didn’t just fail Sherlock did you? You failed me too. I’m dead because of you. I could have seen today’s sunlight, if it weren’t for you. What about Scotland Yard? They were depending on the both of you as well. It’s not just me, not just Sherlock, you failed EVERYONE.”

Her face began distorting into a horrible figure. Her teeth grew into long fangs, dripping a sickly green fluid. Her eyes became hollow and black. Her skin turned a deathly pale grey. You screamed and turned, putting your head in your hands and began rocking back and forth.

“No, no! Stop it! Stop! Please! It wasn’t my fault! I’m sorry. Please, stop it.”

She began to circle around you, her fangs dripping onto you. The drips burned as they touched your skin, and they wet your hair, making it stick to you. You were half sobbing, half screaming. Sherlock stepped forward and sat next to you, shooing away the gruesome monster. He put his hand on your shoulder. You looked up at Sherlock, your eyes stinging from the tears. You wiped them away, looking at Sherlock for solace. He tucked your (h/c) hair out of the way and behind your ears. He gently cupped your face with his hand and looked you in the eyes. He told you in his simple way, as if it was obvious, “She’s right, (y/n), you failed all of us. You failed me, her, and everybody. She’s dead because of you. They’re all dead.”

He let go of you with a slight push, and you looked around. He was correct. Everyone was dead but you. They were all dead...including Sherlock. You looked at them all. They all had the same mark of the serial killer. You began screaming, trying to run as far as you could, but every time you took a step, you would loop back to the same spot you were before.

In pure terror, you ventured to look behind you, only to see the serial killer right behind. He covered your mouth before you could scream again and slit your neck like the rest of them.

You lied there as the murderer knelt down next to you. He tilted your head to the side and moved your hair out of the way of your neck. You tried to tense up, to flinch, move away, but you couldn’t do anything. You were frozen. You watched as he uncapped the sharpie and drew the swastika on your own neck, carefully and methodically. It was cold, wet, and it slightly tickled. You wanted to swat it away, and scream out, but there was nothing you could do. You gave up trying to move, and stayed there as he drew.

Your dream panned out to where you outside of your body, watching as you bled out on the street alone. You tried to scream, to call for help, but when you opened your mouth, there was pure silence. Ignoring yourself, you went over to Sherlock. In a desperate attempt to save at least someone, you tried to pick up Sherlock’s lifeless body. But whenever you tried, your hands would only slip through him. You tried again and again, wanting to cry or show some emotion for your failed attempts, but you couldn’t do anything but float there with your thoughts. You were a spectre in a terrible never-ending hell. You gave up fighting, and floating there, you stayed by Sherlock’s side, watching his still body, until all faded to black. 

 

You awoke to screaming and being cradled in John’s arms.  
The tears ran thick and heavy on your face, stains already reddening your cheeks. Your entire body shook violently as you sobbed; grabbing handfuls of John’s shirt like it was your lifeline. You buried your face in his shoulder and gave into the sobbing. John held your back and ran his fingers through your hair gently, rocking back and forth. In a near whisper, he began to talk to you.

“Shh, (y/n), you’re alright. It’s okay, you’re safe. It was just a bad dream, nothing can hurt you now.” He continued on consoling you until the tears calmed down and you could breathe again. You loosened your death grip on John, and looked up at him. You knew you were going to be okay, but it had seemed so real. You managed to speak for the first time since you woke up. You ran your fingers through your hair, and mumbled something unintelligible.

“Hmm? I’m sorry, what did you say?”

You touched his hair, soft under your hand, and ran your hands through it once or twice. “You- you’re not dead....why aren’t you dead?”

John looked at you with concern and confusion, wondering what you meant. Then his eyes widened with realisation. That’s what had happened.  
“I wasn’t aware I was supposed to be dead. No, I’m very much alive.

You gasped, and jumped out of bed, scaring John, and abruptly ending his comforts. You grabbed your fluffy, black robe and quickly tied it on, and rushed out of the door of your bedroom. Your breathing was hitched and your eyes filled with worry. You ran to the sitting room where you found Sherlock and Mary in a deep discussion about something. It didn’t matter anyway. You found Sherlock in his normal chair with his hands templed under his chin as usual.

Dashing up to him, you grabbed his neck and began crying again. Not your previous sobbing, but crying nonetheless. You startled Sherlock by this seemingly random action, and he seemed to be at a loss for words for what had to be the first time in his life.

You finally let go of him, only to stare at him. You searched his face in relief. You ran your hand through his dark curls, and began to laugh, although it was full of hitches and tears.  
“You’re safe. Oh my gosh, you’re not dead. You’re not dead!” You hugged him tight.

Sherlock looked at you with his puzzled confusion, and looked over you.

“You’ve obviously had a nightmare, seeing as how you’re still dressed in your night robe, and crying over the face that I am, indeed, fine. Calm down, it was nothing but an overactive imagination in your dreams.” He stood and you let go of him. He gave you an awkward side-hug, and went to prepare some tea.

You sat down in Sherlock’s chair, and watched Sherlock in a wave of relief. He was fine, John was fine, and you weren’t dead. You knew it was juvenile, freaking out like this, but you couldn’t help but worry now. Well, you always worried for their safety, but this only amplified your suspicion levels. Mary shocked you out of your thoughts.

“(Y/n). Are you alright? Is everything okay?”

“I-” You swallowed nervously. “I’m just a bit paranoid after last night.”

“A bit? (Y/n), you ran into the room and cried on Sherlock. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I promise, Mary. I’m fine. Just had a scare.”

“Alright...I’m here if you need me.”

“Thanks, Mary. I’m just going to relax a bit.” You settled down in the chair and picked up a book that was lying on the side table. You didn’t care much what it was; you just wanted something to read. After you had been sitting there for about 5 minutes, you were distracted from your reading. 

Sherlock cleared his throat in an attempt to catch your attention, and it worked. You looked up from your reading and you saw Sherlock standing beside the chair with a cup in his hand.  
“You’re in my chair.” Sherlock stated plainly.

You set down the book and stood up. “Sorry, Sherlock.” You smiled and moved. Sherlock gave you a small smile as he caught your shoulder. You found a cup of tea being thrusted into your hands. You looked at him in confusion.

“It’s tea...”

“Yes.” Sherlock looked at you with an air of expectation.

“Why did you give me your....oh!” It was for you! Of course! How could you have been so stupid? You put it close to your face and sniffed it. It smelled wonderful. You were about to take a sip when you remembered something from John’s blog. “It’s not drugged, is it?”

Sherlock had a hurt look on his face. “Of course not.” He crossed his arms. 

“I was joking, Sherlock. I know you wouldn’t drug my tea. I’m sure you’re not apt to do that again after John took away the chem set for a week.” You laughed and took a sip of the tea. It was actually really good. You sat down on the couch that Sherlock would normally be sulking on and propped your feet up on the table.   
After a brief moment of awkward silence, you cleared your throat to get Sherlock’s attention. It got Mary’s as well, but she wasn’t your target. Either way, nice to have a second listening in.

“Sherlock?” You sounded uneasy and nervous, and that’s because, well, you were. “What about last night? You know, when I- umm- yeah.”

Sherlock’s unusually cheery face darkened and he templed his hands underneath his chin. “Ah, yes, that. I wasn’t able to catch him. I was going to start again this morning after you had had ample time to awaken, prepare, and recover from last night.” Obviously he knew about the nightmare, and you were glad he gave you time to get back on your feet. But even with this there was still the question that had been plaguing you since you awoke.

“Did he, I mean, is anybody...dead? Nobody died last night, right?”

Sherlock sighed and looked at you. “I haven’t gotten any messages from Lestrade yet so I assume not.”

You fell back in the couch in relief. Nobody had died. That you knew of anyway. Nothing says that it didn’t happen, Scotland Yard just may not know of it yet.  
Mary looked at you odd. “Are you alright?” Sherlock stared at you, and you could tell that he was deducting you and he would know if you were lying. There was no escaping it this time, so you leaned forward, put your elbows on your knees and said simply, “No. No I’m not.”


	3. Even High-Functioning Sociopaths Have Dreams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back after forever! 
> 
> I tried to stay true to the characters, but as I said last time, I'm terrible at doing Mary. Hope I did okay otherwise.
> 
> Enjoy! Kudos and comments are love and love equals cookies!

They both looked you with a furrowed brow. Sherlock stared at you, trying to see if he could get anything. Mary watched you with concern. She was the first to speak up.  
“That was very, um, straightforward to say the least. Can you elaborate?”  
“It was your dream last night. It’s left you disconcerted. By your apparent apprehension, and your concern about the body count this morning, I’d say you dreamt of the killer. People died in your dream, most likely more than one or someone you cared about deeply. Immediately excludes me.” He continued to talk, but a small part of you died inside. How could he exclude himself so readily? More importantly, how were you going to tell him the truth? “Could possibly be Mary, but probably not, seeing as you barely know her, but feel a deep connection for her marriage to John. John! He’s the one who died. You have a deep relationship with John. You both grew up together. It’s far more likely that he died than anyone else.”  
You looked at him sadly and briefly looked away.  
“It was more than John, wasn’t it? It cut you deep. Someone you consider very close, or someone you idolize died then. Multiple people died, but most of them don’t count. They hardly do. Dreams focus on one or two people. So who was the second? None of the rest of your family, not close enough. You stay here with me, so you obviously don’t have very many friends. You don’t have any romantic involvement with anybody, or you would have brought them home already.”   
He looked at you genuinely confused. You leaned back from your open position, and leaned back into the chair, arms crossed. You were rather irritated at being deduced, and wished Sherlock would just let you talk for once without it all. You sighed and started to speak.  
“Very close, Sherlock. You were spot on about the topic. It was the killer, and people did die. A lot of people died. Including John. There was a second person, and here’s where you obviously got confused.” His curious eyes turned into a glare. “Oh, don’t give me that. You did. You can’t read my mind, Sherlock. And don’t pretend you can either. I’ll tell you what happened in a brief paraphrase, I’m not going to tell the whole detailed thing. It might take 2 hours for all I know.”  
You took a deep breath and began.  
“It started in the flat, I got a call, and we both ran out the door for a case. We met up with Lestrade, and went to examine the body. After you did, I checked as well. I checked her neck and saw a mark. A Nazi swastika was drawn on her neck, and while I stared at it, she stopped being dead and grabbed me.”   
Mary laughed, and Sherlock raised an eyebrow.  
“(Y/N), how could a corpse suddenly decide to not be dead anymore?”   
Before you could answer, Mary cut in.  
“It was a dream, Sherlock. Surely you know how odd those can be.”  
“Obviously. I had my fair share of them as a child.”  
“Did you ever have a nightmare, Sherlock? Those tend to be more irrational than usual.”  
“Of course I did! I did not miss out on all normal childhood experiences.”  
“I didn’t say that you did, Sher-“  
“Both of you! I was in the middle of something that you two started, if you have conveniently forgotten!”  
They both stopped talking, and looked at you apologetically.  
“Sorry, (y/n). Umm, Sherlock? She was talking.”  
Sherlock snapped up to attention in his seat, as if he was pulled out of a trance.  
“Oh, yes, sorry. As you were saying.”  
“Thank you, Sherlock. Much obliged to have your attention. Anyway, as I said the woman grabbed me. She told me that I had failed everyone and that they were dead because of me. She turned into a monster, and began circling me.”  
“That is impossible, (y/n). Monsters do not exist.”  
“Dreams, Sherlock. They defy all normality. Just forget real life for a bit okay. Normality does not apply. So, you walked up to me, and told me that she was right.” You decided to conveniently leave out the part where he held you in your dream, and skip to the important parts. “When I looked up, everyone was dead. Including you.”  
“But...”  
“I’m not done yet. There’s more. I tried to run away, but- but there was this loop. It wouldn’t let me move. Every time I tried, I just ended up right where I began.”  
“That’s a common element in dreams. Dreams reflect how you feel in life. Your loop equates to feeling trapped.”  
Mary cut in, confused. “And just how did you know that?”  
“Read a book.”  
“Of course. Sorry, dear. Getting back to the story.”  
“Yeah...okay. Thanks Sherlock, I guess... So the killer came up behind me and slit my neck. Then I felt separated. I was still there. I could see, but I couldn’t control my body anymore. It wouldn’t move, I just laid there. I could feel the sharpie being drawn on my skin and it was scary.”  
“Hmm, that’s relating to the constant mortal danger that you’re in with me.”  
“Ahhh. So, then it panned out, I was outside of my body. I could see everything at once. I could see myself bleeding out on the street. There was nothing I could do. I was just floating there. I ignored myself and I....I, well, I rushed to you. You were the first thing on my mind. I tried to pick you up. I knew it was too late to save you, but maybe if I could get you to Molly, I could give you a proper burial, but whenever I tried to pick you up, my hands slipped through your body. I tried again and again but there was nothing I could do and I just felt so, so helpless!”  
You didn’t know it was possible for Sherlock to blush, but somehow you’d managed it. You’d probably find out later, right now emotions swelled within you and you did everything you could to not cry again.  
“Um, (y/n). Is there anything else to the dream?”  
“Not much...” You spoke through a strained voice. “I just stayed there, next to you, crying, sobbing silent tears, wanting to save you, until everything faded to black, and then I woke up.”  
“Oh.” Sherlock seemed to be speechless, which was very rare. He talked about the “special someone” in your dreams. Someone who was very important to you or you idolized. He never expected himself.  
You hoped nothing would change.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's blushing like a little schoolgirl! Here's hoping nothing gets too awkward.


	4. Because Saying Please Is Too Mainstream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter out so quickly! I wish I could work like this all of the time! 
> 
> Anyway, you've all had enough fluff. You have a pretty good idea of yourself by now, I'm sure. So, let's get moving with the plot.   
> As always, I hope you guys enjoy the new chapter.
> 
> Kudos and comments are love and love equals cake!!!

It was a couple of days after your explanation of your dream, and you hadn’t really seen or heard from Sherlock at all. Whenever you chanced to be in the same room together, if even for a few seconds, no eye contact or words were exchanged. He seemed to be trying to avoid you at great lengths. By involving himself with case after case, which you only picked up on by remnants of experiments with severed limbs all over the kitchen table, he successfully kept himself busy enough to stay away. As normal, John went with him on the cases, leaving you, Mary and Mrs. Hudson in the flat alone.  
Other than lounging around watching crap telly and chatting over a cuppa or two, the three of you didn’t particularly occupy yourselves. After an hour or two or five of Mary pleading to leave the flat, you finally agreed, made yourself decent, and you both walked out.  
It was actually pretty cool outside, and you tugged your jacket tighter around yourself as you walked. 

“So, Mary...what were you hoping to do?”

“I don’t really have a clue. I just wanted to get out, and I thought it’d be better for you to come with.”

“Right. So, I’m guessing you don’t want to go for a coffee.”

Mary just raised an eyebrow and tilted her head. “Really? We’re finally out of the flat, and you just want to go for a coffee?”

You shrugged your shoulders. “Maybe to go?”

She rolled her eyes, then nodded her head. “Yeah, okay. Two coffees to go.”

You walked over to a coffee shop where you ordered your drinks, and quickly left.  
“So, (y/n), anywhere you’d like to go in particular?”

“Bookstore?” You asked eagerly, hoping to be able to sit and read your favorites again, and maybe get some new ones.  
Mary thought about it for a minute, sipping her coffee slowly. “Yeah, that doesn’t sound too bad. Might even run into the boys.”

“I doubt it.” You shook your head. “Bookstores are just a bad as grabbing the milk for Sherlock. Too much information at once. Overloads his hard drive, and forces him to delete more important things.”

“Doesn’t stop us from going though.” Mary smirked and you laughed.

“Nope!”  
You both ran off in the direction of the bookstore, which wasn’t all that far away.

When you arrived, you were both a bit out of breath. You walked in the door and stopped. Breathing in deep, you had your favourite smell in the world. New books. You’d never get tired of it. You and Mary split ways in the mostly empty bookstore, which was your favourite kind. You went directly to the Teens section to grab the rest of the books in the series you were reading. Mary went over to the tutorials, where she found several books on how to take care of infants and small children. You often forgot that Mary was actually pregnant. It wasn’t quite visible yet, and she didn’t act like it, or brag about it like other women.   
You picked up your books, and continued to browse and pick up more until you had a stack of books high enough that you could barely see over the top of them. You tried to find your way over to Mary, but you were stopped by someone grabbing you from behind. All of your books carelessly toppled to the floor, and before you could scream, your mouth was covered by a large hand. You bit the hand, and as soon as it flew away you let out a large shriek for help. As you took a deep breath, a rag covered you mouth. You quickly exhaled in order to not breathe the sickeningly sweet chemical. 

You remembered Sherlock experimenting with this. What was it called...chlorophyll? Chloroform. That was it. You could only remember one thing.  
“Don’t breathe it. Whatever I do, I can’t breathe. Good luck with that....”

But it was too late, you continued your mantra as your vision blurred, and you got dizzy. You had already done it, you breathed. Crap, you never wished to not be able to breathe right now. Mary had to find you, or she’d go get Sherlock. Or John. John. Your thoughts lingered on your cousin as you faded out of consciousness.  
\--- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- ---

 

You awoke to a metal warehouse, largely empty expect for a few crates. Abandoned? Probably. How stereotypical. You would’ve laughed if it weren’t you who had been kidnapped. You tensed up, prepared to have to struggle out of bonds that held you out of your chair, but as you jerked to the side, you just fell out of the chair.

Looking back at the chair you were sitting in, you realized that there was absolutely nothing keeping you there. So either you weren’t really kidnapped, somehow, which was ridiculous, because you remember being knocked out, or your kidnapper was playing some sick perverted game with you.

You decided on the latter and begun to walk around the warehouse looking for any clues as to what your kidnapper wanted with you. You searched for what seemed like hours, and in exhaustion, chose to sit back down in your chair, which was the one thing you didn’t turn upside down.

You soon fell back asleep in the chair, and you were awoken by a tap on the shoulder, but it wasn’t human, it felt plastic.  
You opened your eyes to find something pointed at you, you screamed then covered your mouth with your hand, taking deep breaths to calm yourself. You scolded yourself for your ridiculousness. You just screamed at a...a...an umbrella? What? 

The umbrella was black, with a crooked wooden handle. It resumed its place at the side of its owner. The man leaned on it and crossed his legs. Was this your kidnapper? This tall, ginger, slightly overweight man that looked like he had never done any hard work in his life was your kidnapper. Looking at his suit he obviously had money to spare, so it wasn’t ransom. You had never met him before, so it wasn’t personal. Were you just a typical serial killer’s victim? No. Not from him. He was no serial killer, at least not directly. You saw his handkerchief, there was a “M” monogrammed on it. No. You heard about Sherlock’s defeat, Moriarty couldn’t have come back. He shot himself in the head. So was this... there was only one logical decision left.

The man opened his mouth to speak, but you beat him to it, using your newfound deduction. The time with Sherlock had definitely paid off. You were just surprised you hadn’t met him before. You had imagined him...different.

“Good evening, Mr. Holmes. I trust you have a good reason for having your henchmen kidnap me and drag to an abandoned warehouse of all places. A plus for sticking to stereotypical locations, or do you have a secret lair somewhere around here?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For my dedicated readers that like to read the entire thing, including the notes, I'll give you this.
> 
> If there's anything you'd like to see in the story, I'll see if I can work it in. I can't wait to hear your ideas!


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